After the last check was complete, Brodie addressed them all, thanking them for their effort and then giving them the rest of the day off. Kristen noticed COB and O’Rourke glance at one another and exchanged looks of “fat chance.” Neither seemed like the type who would take a day off as long as the sub wasn’t ready for sea. Orders or not, each would be right back to work after a shower and a change of clothing. The rest of the men smiled happily and thanked the captain as they headed for the tunnel leading out of engineering toward the forward section of the hull.
COB, O’Rourke, and the captain were leaning against a railing, none apparently going anywhere fast. O’Rourke had an unlit cigarette in between his lips and grease stains all over his hands and face like the rest of them. Kristen was hardly gifted when it came to understanding people, but she didn’t need any such gift to realize these three far more seasoned submariners might not appreciate her company. She was a “NUB.” Or “non-useful-body” which applied to all officers who hadn’t earned their qualification badge. Knowing they probably preferred to be alone, she was about to excuse herself.
“You seem to like being wet, Lieutenant,” Brodie offered after assessing her appearance.
She glanced down at her soiled coveralls, and saw she was still wet from working in the bilge and crawling around the reduction gear assembly. Was he teasing her? Was this just another game? She responded honestly, not yet willing to let her guard down. “Not really, sir.”
A crooked smile appeared on his lips. He was apparently in a good mood after the long night’s work. “I was beginning to think you would’ve preferred being in the SEALs,” he teased while O’Rourke and COB watched with minor amusement.
Kristen hoped this was just good-natured ribbing. She stifled a yawn. “I might have, sir,” she paused and then added with cautious levity, “but women aren’t allowed in the SEALs.”
“I’ll be buggered,” O’Rourke chuckled with a smile, surprised to find a mere Nub with the backbone to tease the captain.
Brodie nodded his head and offered a rakish smile. He was as filthy as the rest of them, and looked even more exhausted, but there was an amused look in his eyes. “You don’t strike me as the type of woman to let a little thing like that stand in your way, Lieutenant.”
Kristen came to attention before departing to leave the three men in privacy. “No sir, I’m not,” she replied and then added, “Good day, gentlemen.” She didn’t salute since they were indoors and uncovered, but Brodie responded with what might have been a half-hearted tip of his hat as if he had been wearing one.
Kristen felt good about her effort over the previous evening. At times she’d felt almost as if those around her were accepting her being on board. But she couldn’t be sure. As she walked away, she could hear the three men chuckling behind her. A part of her hoped they might be laughing with her, but she’d been through too much to believe it and assumed the worst.
One night’s work wouldn’t win her acceptance here.
Chapter Six
Doctor Dar-Hyun Choi pushed himself away from his desk, removed his glasses and rubbed the sore bridge of his nose and his tired eyes. He allowed himself to close his eyes for a few seconds. He was tired. More tired than he’d been the previous evening, far more so than a year ago.
How much more tired shall you be tomorrow?
He considered the hollowness in his chest. The vigor of youth was long gone, and he knew — even with the best medical care available in the People’s Democratic Republic — he wouldn’t last another year. Time was now his most precious commodity, and he was running out of it rapidly. He checked his wristwatch and sighed. His day was done. Doctor’s orders. In his youth, he’d worked twenty hour days, seven days a week and his superiors had supported this. But even the draconian leaders of his government recognized his frailty and no longer pushed him as they once had.
He considered the program running on his computer screen, saved his latest design ideas, and then powered down. Even here, at his country’s most important rocket testing facility, electricity was a precious commodity. He stood, feeling the weakness in his limbs and the light headedness that came with sudden movements.
He clicked off his office light as he opened the door to exit.
Waiting outside the door were his “escorts.” This title was far preferable to the term “handlers” or, perhaps more accurate “jailers.” There’d been a time, during the reign of the first Supreme Leader, that he’d enjoyed relative freedom, and even after the Leader’s death, Dr. Dar-Hyun had enjoyed significant liberty, especially when compared to his fellow countrymen. He’d only been assigned handlers after he’d returned from visits to Russia and Iran. But now, apparently, the latest leadership’s skepticism regarding his loyalty was waning.
“Good evening, Comrade Doctor,” one of his guards greeted him politely. They were soldiers. Part of the security regiment assigned to guard the Musudan-ri facility. “How are you feeling?”
The standard question. Even the lowly privates and corporals assigned to keep an eye on him were aware of his ailments. A heart transplant had been considered the previous year. Arrangements had even been made for him to be taken to Beijing, China where a hospital and a competent set of surgeons would have performed the operation. But he’d been too weak, and the doctors had decided he wouldn’t have survived the procedure.
“I am fine,” he answered as usual. One led the way while the other followed Choi out of the hardened office complex. The administrative building at Musudan-ri where Choi worked was made of heavily reinforced concrete to help protect the valuable research being conducted there in the event the United States or the traitors in the South launched an attack to cripple the Republic’s rocket program. At the exit, he paused long enough to don a heavy winter coat and felt hat.
Once appropriately dressed, Choi stepped out into the cold before pausing long enough to hear screeching as the heavy steel door was slid back on rusting rollers. He almost laughed, knowing that if the United States wanted to destroy the facility, the three-foot thick concrete walls would be no impediment.
Unlike the dank, stale air in the administration building, the air outside was quite refreshing. Choi took a few deep breaths while the door behind him was sealed. He always loved this time of night. After twelve hours locked away in his office and labs, it was nice to smell the sea air and imagine it was free air, too.
As with the previous evening, and every evening since he’d returned to Musudan-ri after his doctor’s prognosis had been made a year earlier, he turned toward the sea for his daily allotted exercise. In his youth, the long walks had helped stimulate his thoughts and he’d developed some of his best ideas during his nightly excursions. But like his lost virility, he’d run out of new ideas. Despite the years of work, efforts at foreign espionage, and the purchase of rockets from abroad, the latest round of tests were not hopeful. The reasons were legion, but none more so than a complete lack of resources. Whereas western democracies might use ten to twenty test rockets before fielding a viable prototype, the People’s Republic could afford no such waste. One rocket had to equal success. Then, even if said rocket failed, the results had to be successful. Propaganda was, after all, about managing the truth, not speaking it.
He buried his hands in his pockets, wondering briefly as he smelled the salt air if this might be the night…
“Good evening, Doctor,” came a familiar voice.
Choi turned and saw General Cheong-In, head of the DPRK’s strategic rocket program, and Choi’s superior. Choi paused, wondering just what the general’s unexpected presence might mean. Choi knew he was under suspicion. Why else was he being guarded wherever he went? Was the general here to arrest him? Doubtful. Despite the regime’s concerns regarding Choi’s loyalty, they still needed him, which was saying quite a bit considering how frivolously the regime squandered the lives of its citizens.